


Five Realizations and One Action

by DoreyG



Category: Doctor Strange (2016)
Genre: 5 Times, Cloak Sex, Coffee, Developing Relationship, Getting Together, Hurt/Comfort, Nightmares, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-27
Updated: 2017-05-27
Packaged: 2018-11-05 12:07:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,461
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11013114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DoreyG/pseuds/DoreyG
Summary: The first time he noticed that his Cloak might, quite possibly, be screwing with him was the first time he tried to order Chinese food after the whole Dormammu business.





	Five Realizations and One Action

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dreamiflame](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreamiflame/gifts).



**1.**

The first time he noticed that his Cloak might, quite possibly, be screwing with him was the first time he tried to order Chinese food after the whole Dormammu business.

And, okay, perhaps it wasn't the _best_ idea to order takeaway right to the door of the New York Sanctum. And, fine, perhaps it wasn't the _brightest_ idea to settle down to all that delicious greasiness with his best clothes still on. And, sure, maybe it wasn't the _smartest_ idea to spend the night stuffing his face and moping over the jagged edges of his life...

But, dammit, he _deserved_ it. In less than a year, less than a goddamned blink of his eye in medical school, his entire life had reshaped itself from the ground up with seemingly little input from him. His hands were still busted, but he'd learned magic. He'd gone at least some of the way to repairing his relationship with Christine, but had lost both reluctant mentor and even more reluctant best friend in the space of a few hours. He'd basically thrown away his professional life, but had got a swanky home and a whole new vocation out of it. Up and down, down and up, up and up, down and down and he was _sick_ of it.

Just one night to mope couldn't be too bad, right? Just one night in his head couldn't destroy everything, could it?

He had convinced himself so firmly of that fact by the time he reached the kitchen, that his reaction to opening the delivery bag only to find empty space beneath his groping fingers was something akin to despair. He scratched at the still greasy, still _hot_ , paper and moaned low in his throat. He peered into the bag with the same level of intensity that he had once peered into several heads, and narrowed his eyes when he still found nothing. He actually turned the bag upside down in his hands, and shook it vigorously like _that_ would dislodge his precious food from the mysterious land of nothing that it'd disappeared into.

"Where...?"

It was only when he was on the point of actually trying a spell, possibly on the level of reversing _time_ to get his delicious pork balls, that he noticed the subtle rustle of fabric. The pull around his shoulders, like the Cloak was trying to tug towards something that it didn't quite want him to notice.

He turned...

"Oh, come on!"

And he knew, logically, that it was impossible for a scrap of fabric to look guilty. He _knew_ that. But it still didn't stop him from throwing up his hands in frustration, at the sight of the Cloak pausing awkwardly over the kitchen bin with his precious food clutched awkwardly in one fold.

"Give that back," he ordered through gritted teeth. And then, when the Cloak only twitched slightly in response: "give that back! Come on, I _deserve_ this. I've had months straight of being chased by evil monks, and ending up half killed on mountain tops, and having sticks almost breaking my fingers, and getting _actually_ killed in weird inter-dimensional pockets of time that may not really exist-"

The Cloak seemed to cringe a little, as if wordlessly expressing sympathy for his repeatedly murdered plight.

"-And I _think_ the least I deserve in payment for all of that is a little Chinese food!" He snapped, somewhat cheered by that small - perceived - show of sympathy, "A chance to put my feet up! A chance to pig out, and relax in the knowledge that I'm unlikely to be interrupted by any more murders! A chance to actually _think_ about all that's happened to me!"

The Cloak twitched again, as if again expressing sympathy. But... And, okay, he _knew_ it sounded insane. But it was almost as if it was suggesting something, expressing mild disapproval over some decision of his in a way so subtle that even Christine would've admired it.

"Don't I deserve that chance? Even the briefest moment to dwell on all the fucked up shit that's gone on in my life the past few months?" He demanded, feeling a little ill at ease despite himself, "I mean, not even you can deny that there's been some fucked up shit. The magic, the evil monks that wanted to kill me, that big firey demon head that actually killed me... And, look, it's not like I'm going to _brood_ or anything-"

The twitch of the Cloak was _definitely_ disapproving that time, a sharp retort to his extremely rational point that was rude and unfair and _entirely_ inaccurate.

"I won't!" He sniffed defensively, entirely assured - almost _smug_ \- of just how certain and right and _justified_ he was in his opinion. Or mostly assured. Pretty much assured. Slightly assured... "Okay, look, I _know_ I have fallen prey to that in the past. But I'm better now! Smarter, and stronger, and a lot less likely to just lock myself away from the world and ignore everything in favour of my own brain. And, hey, even if I do slip up again-"

The movement of the Cloak in response to that was slower, calmer. The smug retort of somebody- _something_ that had made their point, and was actually at all confident of the righteousness of it.

"... _Ugh_." He narrowly, _narrowly_ , resisted the urge to pout like a child as he turned away from the triumphant dumping of his poor Chinese food into the bin. He was sure there were still some hot dogs in the fridge, after all, and a whole night of intensely complex magical translations stretching before him, "I hate it when you're right."

 

\--

 

**2.**

It shouldn't have surprised him that the grand Cloak offensive only developed from there, but it still kind of did. He knew that he should’ve been inured to all shocks by now, confident in the sheer weirdness of the universe, a full master of the mystic arts...

But, look, he had never been much known for his sensible decisions. And, in his defense, the thought that clothing could be more than a series of inanimate objects designed to hide his nakedness was still _decidedly_ new to him.

The next volley happened about a week after the Chinese Food incident, after a long day - or couple of days, or about half a week, or almost a whole week so _sue_ him - inside the library. As it turned out, the New York Sanctum had almost as many books as Kamar-Taj did - and all of them were _fascinating_. A scholar to his bones, he decided the moment he saw it that he could live happily in a pile of books for the rest of his life. Never going outside again, never eating, never sleeping...

Again, sensible decisions. Never much his forte.

The first solid hint he got that he might have been at it a bit long happened just after midnight. There was a slight tug around his collarbone, an insistent rustle that _could_ \- in a normal house, in a normal _life_ \- have been just a result of a stray breeze.

Getting steadily more used to the, okay, _strangeness_ of his life he somehow doubted that. But still ignored it, stubbornly turned another page and pretended that the words weren't starting to blur just slightly before his eyes.

A few moments of peace went by, so still and silent that he almost managed to trick himself into believing that it _had_ just been a stray breeze. And then there was another movement around his collarbone, a firmer one this time - almost as if something was trying to lift him bodily out of his chair, tip him back out into the cold world _away_ from books.

He gritted his teeth in response, stubbornly turned _another_ page even though he'd barely finished the first paragraph. He was a grown man, he could do what he liked. And if what he liked was to finish this book tonight and _maybe_ pick up another one afterwards, then no force in heaven or hell was going to...

The Cloak, reserves of patience obviously eroded, _yanked_ as hard as it could around his collarbone. There was a slight shifting of the world, a confusing sense of weightlessness... And then he found himself on his side on the floor, tipped over chair just behind him and half-finished book still propped open on the table suddenly above him.

"Right!" He yelled, and scrambled to his feet. Only becoming more annoyed when his limbs insisted upon tangling with each other and the cloak insisted on coming with him, "that's quite enough! I am a grown man, a sensible _adult_ , and you cannot go around telling me what to do!"

The Cloak, of course, could not retort. But it still managed, somehow, to convey a decided sense of _disapproval_. Like he was being an absolute fool, for setting his feet on the library carpet and _refusing_ to be maneuvered towards the door.

"The book is fascinating, and I wish to continue to read it," he said, aware of a certain mulish set to his jaw and deciding to consciously maintain the feeling, "furthermore, I wish to continue to read more books after it. Possibly for the rest of the night, possibly until the sun rises, possibly for longer than _that_."

The Cloak, against all odds, continued to convey disapproval. It rustled grumpily around his legs, clenched testily around his shoulders, pulled pleadingly towards the door like all it desired was for him to at least _attempt_ to get a good eight hours - for possibly the first time in _years_ \- and not tire himself to an eventual collapse with his brain entirely full of possibly unhealthy magic.

"I am _fine_ ," he snarled through gritted teeth, and stubbornly refused to acknowledge that the thing had a point. It was a piece of clothing, and pieces of clothing _could not make sensible arguments_ , "better than fine, peachy! And I will continue to be so for several hours yet. I do not need a rest, I do not need a doze, I certainly do not need to waste several precious hours in a nice warm bed..."

The Cloak rustled a touch urgently, as if presenting an entirely sane and legible argument that he would do well to listen to. He found himself tugged a step towards the door, only narrowly managed to stop himself and grit his teeth before he succumbed to entirely foolish temptation.

"It would be a waste," he said, in his most firm and strident tone. The kind of tone that he'd ordered many nurses around in, the kind of tone that had once been the _terror_ of any doctor foolish enough to cross him, "definitely a waste, certainly a waste, _completely_ a waste. I mean, why spend time sleeping when instead I could be-"

The Cloak rustled again, right in the middle of his sentence. And maybe he _was_ a bit tired, but it seemed just the slightest bit _smug_ about something.

" _Research_ is important, and don't even try to argue," he mumbled, and allowed himself to be tugged another step towards the door before he narrowly managed to stop himself. Again, he was still _totally_ in control, "surely even you can see that learning things is much more important than giving in to your stupid bodily urges. I mean, what good have bodily urges ever done anyone?"

Another two steps towards the door, and the rustle of the Cloak sounded almost amused this time.

"I was a very good doctor!"

Amused, soft, _comforting_. Like what he imagined a lullaby would sound like in cloth form, soothing and kind and designed to drive all the worries far away.

"Yes, _because_ I pushed myself more than I should've." He yawned, allowed himself to be urged another three steps towards the door. Somehow, suddenly, waiting until the morning to pick the overturned chair up seemed like a fantastic idea, "but, fine, _maybe_ there could've been healthier options. Not that you're right this time, though, not everybody can be as brilliant as I am..."

 

\--

 

**3.**

The first hint he got that maybe it wasn’t so much a Cloak _offensive_ came about two weeks after that, in the – relatively – early morning as opposed to in the cigarette butt end of the night.

He had never been a morning person, not by any stretch of the imagination. It was certainly an over-exaggeration to state that the only reason he had become a doctor was to take full advantage of the flexible schedule, but... Well, it certainly wasn't as much of an exaggeration as he would willingly admit to. The fact of the matter was that he was barely conscious before nine in the morning a lot of the time, and barely _alive_ before eight.

He needed at least one cup of coffee, preferably more, before he started feeling anywhere close to an actual human being. Which was what led him to standing in the kitchen at half seven, woken up early - for once - to get some extra research done, and heartily regretting the decision with every breath he took.

The New York Sanctum was steadily becoming home, he'd even had Christine over briefly to gawk and giggle at it, but it was still in many ways a mystery to him. Even when fully awake he would get lost sometimes, would take a wrong turning and find himself in a corridor wallpapered with images of human heads or a room the rough temperature of an abattoir or in front of a window offering a perfect view of Pluto. He was steadily making his peace with all these things, but it was still an unavoidable fact that he often felt completely out of place.

And half asleep? Well, damn it, he had absolutely _no_ chance.

He knew he still had some coffee, had brought it on a wander through the world outside just the week before, but for the life of him he couldn't find it. He threw open every single cupboard in the kitchen, and still not could find it. He dug right to the back of the fridge, and still could not find it. He even tentatively, for he swore that he'd seen the thing _glowing_ a few times, opened the oven and peered inside... And still. Could not. _Find_. It.

He had been through a lot over the past year, a lot that got less painful to think about by the day with the research to distract him and the Cloak to poke at him every single time he started to brood, but this was close to the last straw. Sleep deprived, barely _alive_ , he sincerely considered just sinking to the floor and weeping for as long as he could. Maybe Christine would visit him in the next few days and save him, maybe Wong would eventually find his body on one of his irregular check-ups, maybe the archaeologists of the future would puzzle helplessly over his bones. He just didn't-

As if on cue there was a rustle, right behind his head.

He had left the Cloak idly dozing in the corner of his bedroom, over a lamp that it seemed to like using in temporary place of a proper stand. He had expected his companion only to rouse when he had returned, as seemed to be the usual pattern, but he was hardly surprised at the slight change to routine. He sighed, braced his shoulders in preparation for an argument, slowly turned...

And almost fell right on his ass. For there, clutched somewhat precariously in the folds of the Cloak, was his precious coffee. Shining, as if it had a halo around it to reflect its divinity.

"Oh my god, you have _no_ idea how much I love you right now," he said, fervently, and reached out to take the coffee from the Cloak like a worshiper receiving a blessing, "Where did you find it? How did you carry it? Why-?"

The Cloak bobbed in the air, seeming - justifiably - rather pleased. In answer to the first question the red folds gestured, not sharply, towards a cabinet that he _swore_ he had checked at least three times. In answer to the second question the swirl of fabric spun around in a somewhat vague circle, as if to remind him that it was a levitating cloak and so able to do many things. In answer to the third question...

"I am resisting the urge to pat you on the head _so_ hard right now." He barely bit back a smile, as his Cloak whisked over and settled around his shoulders like it absolutely belonged there, "ow, don't pinch! I know you're not a dog, I _promise_."

The Cloak eased around his neck, rustled mock sulkily. A response so effective that he found his bitten back smile quickly turning into bitten back _laughter_.

"Not a dog, not some specialized kind of robot aide, not even a human," he confirmed solemnly, rising fully to his feet and heading towards the coffee machine with a certain spring in his step, "better than all three. You're the Cloak of Levitation. And, let me assure you, you have just _made_ my morning."

The Cloak rustled again, still seeming rather incredibly proud of itself. And for once, for absolutely definite, he could not mind even one bit.

 

\--

 

**4.**

And after that it became harder and harder to think of the Cloak in any sort of negative way at all.

Sure, it remained annoying. It behaved like a Mother Hen far too often, meddled in his business with a glee that was frankly disturbing and seemed to have made up its mind to disagree with his latest schemes on a frankly incredibly random basis.

But...

It was also weirdly _nice_ , caring, supportive in a way that he'd only experienced a very few times in his life and hadn't experienced at _all_ since Christine. It deliberately distracted him every single time he started to get lost in his own head, it reminded him to keep the rough hours of a normal human being as opposed to a library troll and made sure that he was fed regularly enough to stave off any fear of starvation. It took _care_ of him.

And that impression only solidified when his next nightmare crashed into his mind, a few weeks after the first time he'd been granted the gift of sudden coffee.

He was used to nightmares by that point - he felt like he'd been having one every other night since Dormammu, after all - but... That time, it felt particularly nasty. Flashes of fire and rage all around him, a choking feeling of inevitability settling in his chest, the weight of a scornful fist barrelling towards him. And pain, _pain_ so abrupt and sharp that he woke up screaming in agony.

It only took him a few moments to realize that he wasn't in agony, to realize that he wasn't in pain at all and that the ambient New York light was shining through the crack in the curtain, but those moments were still unpleasant. He let a long breath _whoosh_ out of his lungs, collapsed bonelessly back to the sheets and squeezed his eyes shut to stave off tears. There was no reason to feel unsettled, but there it was. The sickening drop in his stomach, the pound of his heart that he could overcome if he just ignored it hard enough...

There was a rustle right by the side of the bed, a somehow - _somehow_ \- sympathetic sound creeping up against all of his carefully constructed defenses.

"I'm fine," he snapped. Then immediately sighed, hearing the tone of his voice. Okay, maybe those carefully constructed defenses were actually made out of cardboard and a general air of dickishness that he was trying _really_ hard to grow beyond, "I'm sorry, did I wake you? I didn't mean to, I was just..."

There was a whisper of air, another faint rustle. And then he felt the Cloak rippling onto the bed besides him, settling down next to him and redistributing its weight as if trying to mimic the outline of a person.

"Okay, yes, _fine_." He sighed, absurdly soothed despite himself. Opened his eyes again, and turned his head to watch the impression of the Cloak on the bed, "I did have a nightmare. But that doesn’t mean I'm not fine, and also doesn’t mean that I'm completely unrepentant about waking you. There, is that better?"

The Cloak curled in on itself, in an oddly amused gesture. Flowed across the bed a little further, until it was gently touching his hand in a way that was almost... Calming.

Again, absurd. But, also again, actually calming. He found himself settling into the lulling motion of it absent-mindedly, a small smile on his lips as he watched pale fingers curve around the dark fabric, "don't worry, I do have _some_ manners instilled in me deep down."

A slightly annoyed rustle, but the Cloak still continued touching him gently.

"I wasn't changing the subject!"

Another annoyed rustle.

"I wasn't, I was just focusing on the less embarrassing part of what we were talking about," he grumbled, but couldn't put too much venom into it. Venom was hard, what with that lovely lulling motion still going on, "but... Okay, if you _insist_. Maybe I am a bit less fine than I'm pretending to be."

A pleased rustle this time, one that actually had him chuckling to himself. As if sensing his pleasure the Cloak bunched itself, dared to move a little closer across the bed until they were practically lying coiled together - fabric draped across his chest, in exactly the place a head would rest if they were both human.

Oddly enough, the thought didn't distress him as much as it should've done. Wonderful, maybe he was finally doing what the Ancient One had advised him to do so long - meaning, just a few months - ago and moving beyond petty ideas of _should_ , "I will be, though."

A pause, stretching out liquidly in the dark of the night. And then the Cloak ever so slowly lifted itself, tilted on his chest as if staring at him questioningly.

"Yes, even with the nightmares and the darkness and the memories of all what happened to me. To both of us, really," he said, still wryly amused despite himself, and reached out - stroked one hand through the heavy fall of fabric, like he would caress the hair of a lover, "I have you, after all. And why wouldn't I be absolutely fine, knowing that you'll always be besides me?"

The Cloak remained frozen on top of him for a long few seconds, almost as if unsure how to react. But, as he continued to stroke... Eventually eased, relaxed, melted back down to his chest in a steady fall of fabric that could only feel absolutely and utterly _right_.

 

\--

 

**5.**

The first time he became aware that maybe his positive thoughts had gone a little _too_ far was on yet another night in his bed, after yet another nightmare with the ambient New York light filtering in through the window.

It was a shock, of course. Thinking of the Cloak as a friend was still borderline impossible, it was a piece of _fabric_ after all, and so to even entertain the idea of it as something more was... Well, _actually_ impossible. Ludicrous, insane, the type of joke that only a truly off the wall comedian could've even dreamed of.

But.

Though it was a shock, it'd be a lie to say that it was a _complete_ shock. It was more a faint surprise, a flicker of uncertainty as opposed to a full body slam out of nowhere. Somewhere deep down, some part of him knew that they'd been building to becoming so much closer for months now. Ever since the Cloak had fetched him coffee that first time. Or ever since the Cloak had dragged his weary body to bed. Or ever since the Cloak had denied him Chinese food, and an unhealthy wallow in his thoughts. Or ever since...

A thousand moments, all building up to one final tumble over the edge. It was almost pointless to dwell on all of them, it would only distract from the final perfect happening.

And here was what happened.

He woke up drenched in sweat again, heart pounding and sheets somehow twisted all the more firmly around his limbs. The images were, at least, a little vaguer that time. Not so much sharp stabs, as they were gently uncomfortable prickles. He remembered heat, pain, a crushing sense of despair... And little else, a tide of detached discomfort wrapped around him like a particularly uncomfortable blanket.

He let out one shuddering breath, held it for a long second and then let out another. His fingers clenched in the bedsheets as he delicately untangled himself, and he tried desperately to let the feeling of the silk - he may have taken a technical pay-cut, but he still would accept only the _best_ \- beneath his fingertips drag him back to reality. The darkness of the room pressed upon him, the lingering despair of the nightmare even more so. A part of him just wanted to give up, to curl into a shaking ball and leave braver pursuits until morning.

And then... A rustle.

His fingers unclenched, the pounding of his heart slowed and - despite himself - he felt a small smile start to curve. He laid back upon the bed, and let what would happen... _Happen_. The Cloak rose up above like an inevitability, what should've been somewhat sinister instead seeming simply _right_.

"I should've known you would hear me," he murmured, lulled, and reached up one hand. Dragged it through the folds of the Cloak, and watched with pleasure as it gave a pleased tremble at his passing, "you always watch out for me, don't you? No matter how silly I might be."

The Cloak paused for a second, as if considering how to respond. And then seemed to give the equivalent of a shrug, a surrender, and slowly curved around his hand - trapped it in its folds, as if finally accepting his caress.

"I like that," he said, and was pleased to see the Cloak shudder again - even over such an _obvious_ truth, "perhaps more than I can accurately convey, most of the time. I like not being alone, having somebody there to actually _care_ about me for once. I like feeling important, like somebody is worried about my wellbeing even if I'm not. I like _you_."

At the boldness of his words the Cloak seemed to still for a second, whisking over his knuckles in something that was half a hesitation, half a question.

"...I like you," he repeated, and smiled his most charming smile up at the Cloak. Not quite aware of what he was doing, only aware that it felt so _right_ , "and I suspect, somehow, that you like me too. Won't you show me, just this once? Won't you tell me that you've grown to care about me, just as I've grown to care about you?"

There was a hesitation, a stretching moment that could've led any which way - back into the past, forwards into the future, sideways in a way entirely and utterly unexpected.

And then...

The Cloak shuddered again, as if pushing past one final boundary, and stretched itself out over him. He hadn't quite been aware of how naked he was before, had somewhat unwisely considered it irrelevant in the Cloak's presence, but suddenly he found himself _intimately_ knowing of it. The fabric seemed to mold over every inch of his body, stretching itself to him. It felt like a hug... But so, _so_ much better.

He sucked in a harsh gasp, somewhat startled by the intensity of his reaction. Found himself flailing up a grasping hand, trying to grab for some sort of purchase that simply wasn't there. His heart pounded in his chest, his mouth felt slightly dry. Already, he was more aroused than he could ever remember being.

The Cloak drew back a little for a second, seemed to consider something. And then, in another oh so fluid movement, rippled back over him. Didn't mold itself fully to his body, but instead flowed over certain parts of him with an attention that could be described as flattering at _worst_. It ran over his neck, his collarbone, his chest, his _thighs_ with a fastidiousness that would've been called obsessive in anything else.

And maybe, just maybe, obsessive even in a Cloak. But, somehow, he just couldn't bring himself to care. He gasped shamelessly under the attention, wriggled and writhed on the bed like some unhinged thing. Somehow, he couldn't help himself. This was everything he had ever wanted, and everything he had never - with all his arrogance, and certainty, and careless dismissals - known.

The Cloak rippled all the harder, seemingly pleased by his obvious appreciation. And then, as if to reward him for good behavior, finally focused in on where he'd been hard ever since the first brush. The red fabric wrapped first around his cock like a teasing caress, and then steadily picked up the pressure. Harder, _harder_ until it felt like the most delicious wind tunnel known to man was clenching around him.

He bucked his hips right up off the bed, swore loudly and then laughed softly when the Cloak rustled with delight around him. A part of him, a very small part, was aware that he should've found this whole thing absurd. But it really _was_ a very small part, and he really couldn't bring himself to heed it too much. He was too busy being caught up in the sensations of the thing - in the wind tunnel pressure, in the softness of the fabric, in the feeling of _safety_ utter and absolute.

It felt like nothing before, something absolutely new.

And...

_And_...

" _Fuck_ ," he whispered, hands spasming in the sheets, "do I love you."

And, as he hurtled ever closer to the best oblivion he had ever brushed up again, he knew absolutely that nothing would compare ever again.

 

\--

 

**+1.**

And that was the first time he realized, really realized, that everything had changed. Not the sea change that had become commonplace the past few months, a violent table-flip of his entire worldview that left him coiled in a fetal ball on the floor and whimpering, but something... More subtle. Quieter, less obvious. Better in pretty much every single way.

He woke up in the morning feeling better than he had in months. No, scratch that, _years_. No, scratch that again, possibly _ever_. His body felt entirely relaxed, tension soothed away to only a low grade buzz at the base of his spine and around his shoulders. He dwelled on the matter for a long few seconds, expecting to find at least a few flutters of uncertainty, and was surprised when he found only peace. A happy sort of acceptance, and the _glowing_ knowledge - brand new, and faintly scary - that last night had been absolutely _right_ in every way.

...Now, he only had to convince the Cloak of that.

The Cloak had not been there when he'd awoken. And while he hadn't been expecting the average morning after, to turn over and find a warm body sprawled sleepily next to him, he had to admit that he hadn't been expecting that. He'd become used to the flutter of fabric, the insistent bobbing presence fondly following him around. The sheer and obvious absence of it was _unsettling_.

A part of his mind cried out that maybe he should take the hint, as he levered up on his elbows. Interpret the Cloak's absence as a subtle rejection, remember his own sanity and get back to some semblance of normal life. Things were weird enough, after all. He might as well take his relatively normal relationship status, and run with it until-

He squashed the urge, somewhat scornfully. Rose up out of his bed, and in the absence of the Cloak wrapped some sheets around him for warmth.

One of the, numerous, good things about having magic was that finding things became a lot easier. Perhaps the idea of staggering from room to room screeching like a banshee had some rustic charm to it, but there were far more important things to get to and he had _priorities_. Well laid, future facing, incredibly important priorities. It was only the effort of a second, to murmur a word that he'd looked up before the Cloak had put a stop to the late nights and trace his steps throughout the Sanctum.

He found the Cloak puddled at the convergence of mirrors, staring out at a bracing desert scene. Careful to mind his step, he was pretty sure that some very nice sheets would do little to protect him against whipping wind and boiling sun, he knelt down next to it and absent-mindedly arranged himself into a casually seductive position.

The Cloak...

Well, didn't _really_ seem to notice that so much. But also didn't violently leap away from his presence, thank god. It started for a second, as if it had been lost in thought, but soon seemed to ease. Even reached out a tendril of fabric, to wrap around one wrist and anchor him.

"Hello there," he drawled, and couldn't help but put a little purr in his voice. Again, it would probably go absolutely unnoticed - but old habits died hard, and he was starting to become surprised by just how much he _wanted_ this, "did you have a good night last night? Because, let me tell you, I _certainly_ did."

The Cloak undulated a little, as if in amusement. And then... Seemed to freeze. Drooped a little, right back to the floor.

"Oh, come on," he said, trying desperately to keep his tone light and playful. It was a little hard, with the feeling like his stomach was dropping out of him, but he was _sure_ that he'd done harder things at some point, "was I really that bad? I mean, I know I've gotten a bit out of practice lately. But I tried my-"

The Cloak bounced up, rather urgently. Squeezed his wrist a little tighter, whisked around his head a few times and generally jerked in urgency. Then seemed to realize what it had shown, and slumped back to the floor again in dismay.

"...What?" He asked, a touch unsteadily. Humorous front fading away, in favor of a _hell_ of a lot of puzzled staring.

There was a long pause, so long that he half feared that he'd have to puzzledly stare forever. And then the Cloak seemed to sigh again, shifted itself as if giving a resigned shrug.

"So what you're saying..." He murmured slowly, and - with a frankly heroic level of effort - did not let his mind dwell on the ridiculousness of attributing vocalization to a Cloak, "is that this is nothing to do with me, or what we did last night."

The Cloak bounced up and down, in an obvious nod. Then seemed to hesitate for a second, awkwardly coiling itself around his wrist.

"No, don't worry, I'm _definitely_ not interpreting that as an insult." He sighed, reached out one hand to stroke - hopefully soothingly - over the smooth red fabric, "I will, however, be interpreting myself as an insensitive idiot."

An annoyed motion, jerking his fingers through the fabric rather quicker than he would've liked.

"And you definitely cannot talk me out of it," he said sternly, and deliberately gentled the motion again, "I just... For months now, I've thought that I was the only one to go through all of that. The only one, to have had their life upended without a by your leave and everything changed in the blink of an eye. The only one, to have faced down Dormammu and still have the memories of that."

Another long pause, a somehow more awkward one. The tension seemed to buzz in the air, hovering between them like some invisible chain. The Cloak, realizing this only a moment after him, seemed determined to disperse the atmosphere. Jerked once hard, twice desperately, thrice- 

"But I'm not," he said, slowly and firmly. Interrupting the Cloak mid-motion, using a trick that he'd learned from It long before, "because you were there too."

The Cloak drooped a little, recognizing that it’d been caught.

"What, you thought that I wouldn't understand?" He shifted a little. Found himself, as ever, fundamentally uncomfortable with the baring of his soul, "That I'd be too caught up in my own problems to offer you even a moment of sympathy?"

He wasn't really expecting an intense reaction to that, but he had to admit that it was flattering when he got one. The Cloak shot right up, tightened its grip around his wrist until he shuddered - not at all unpleasantly - at the contact, and seemed to glare at him with a level of intensity that was almost disturbing.

Almost.

"...Or you just didn’t want to trouble me, seeing what I was going through. Didn't want to have your own problems, when mine seemed so much bigger." He stared for a moment, hesitating. Then let out a long huff of air, settled back on his elbows and stared intensely at the Cloak - _his_ Cloak - besides him, "but, you see, it doesn't work like that. My problems are no more important than yours, my desires are no more important than yours. Just because I feel something, doesn't mean that you can't feel exactly the same thing. We're in this together. You are not a pedestal to hold me up whenever I feel weak and ask for nothing in return, we are a _team_."

And the intensity faded, the tension in the air seemed to reduce to a low prickle. The Cloak swayed for a second, as if confused, and then folded slowly closer to him. Soft fabric pressed up against his side, sense of presence so close that the feeling of it actually caught in his throat - a breathless moment, where his heart pounded and the future stretched out between them like something impossible and amazing.

"I will always be here for you, just as you will always be here for me," he said, somewhat surprised by the intensity in his voice "...Now, do you want to stop flopping around here and go back to bed? You've held me up so many times, I want to see what it feels like to hold _you_."

A moment, another one of those trembling ones that could go any which way and change the whole wide world. And then the Cloak shuddered, lifted itself in a sigh. Rose up off the floor, and followed him back to the warmth.


End file.
